


Short Circuit

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, some vague time post HLV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You glance up to find the world’s only consulting detective staring at you. For a moment, you’d all but forgotten that Sherlock was in the room. That didn’t used to happen so easily, but it’s been a while since you were that girl. A large part of you is rather proud about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Circuit

**Author's Note:**

> For [miabiciletta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/pseuds/miabicicletta) who constantly holds my hand through the process of creating with words (what are words? why are they so difficult? Verb tenses, what are they?) and for [PetraTodd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/pseuds/PetraTodd) for looking out for me. :)

You barely notice it, the first time.

 

You are carefully making the last cut with your scalpel before you feel the organ come free in your hand. You carefully pull it past the open ribcage, spreading your fingers a little wider to hold it firmly. It’s a good specimen, nothing discolored or particularly alarming at first glance, but the truth will out once you inspect all the arteries. You place it carefully in a the aluminium bowl.

 

“Ah, Mr Richards. Looks like you have a good heart after all.” The scale is promising and you make a quick recording of the measurements.

 

You glance up to find the world’s only consulting detective staring at you. For a moment, you’d all but forgotten that Sherlock was in the room. That didn’t used to happen so easily, but it’s been a while since you were _that_ girl. A large part of you is rather proud about that.

 

He’s staring at you. It’s a look that you don’t really recognize: unblinking and intense and yet there’s a quality of not being fully present. Maybe he was in his mind palace? You suppose that he could have gotten bored at some point and drifted off. Been known to happen.

 

He’s still staring, silent and still, and it’s beginning to get unnerving since you’re not sure if you should be doing something to help him at this point.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

That seems to snap him out of it a bit. He blinks and breathes in, his mouth opening as if he’s about to speak...and then he whirls around and is gone.

 

Not by far the oddest thing you’ve seen him do, but you figure that when he needs you again, he’ll be back.

 

X

 

You don’t see him for about a week.

 

You realize that you haven’t actually heard him speak as you see him and John coming down the hallway to use the lab.  You know why they’re there (Greg had sent you a text) and send them on ahead of you. When you get back, he’s staring at you again as soon as you walk in through the door. The same unnerving feeling is present. You ask him if he’s alright, your eyes flitting over to his partner.

 

John is frowning and looking at the detective in a strange way so there’s no help there.

 

He leaves again without a word as you and John share a confused shrug.

 

X

 

Two days later, it seems like John knows exactly what’s going on, if the exasperated look on his face is anything to go by.

 

His jaw is set firmly, but you honestly don’t have a lot of time to ponder it at the moment. There’s a mountain of paperwork to be done and while a distraction sounds lovely, you need to buckle down and bang it out.

 

When Sherlock abruptly leaves again,  John lets out a growl and follows him.

 

X

 

It’s been over a week since you’ve seen Sherlock, you find yourself pondering that situation as you do your best to remain calm.

 

The hospital is on lockdown and you have been called to say that you will be evacuated as soon as it was safe to do so. You reassure the trembling intern that was with you and do your best to be cheery, suddenly grateful for the years of mandatory training for just this type of scenario.

 

The police arrive (finally!). You  hadn’t realized how badly you wanted fresh air until you’re outside and they  usher you to the waiting EMT officers. You are all quickly debriefed. You find out that the situation is mostly over now, the would-be bomber on the third floor of the QEII wing was literally as far as possible from you while still causing the entire complex to go into lockdown. Perhaps not the smartest of moves on the part of the authorities but--

 

You spot Sherlock as you turn the corner. He’s handcuffed to the door of a police car, spewing abuse at Greg no doubt, if the set of his jaw is anything to go by. You’ve never felt so relieved to see him.

 

When they catch sight of you, Greg quickly releases Sherlock from the handcuffs and before you know it, you’re being crushed into Sherlock’s chest, your nose pushed almost painfully into his collarbone.

 

The bomber inside had nothing to do with him or anything he’d ever worked on and it terrified him. He ushers you into a taxi before Greg can even say a word and keeps your hand in his all the way to your flat. He makes you tea, brings you your cat, and you finally get fed up with him watching you like you’re going to disappear.

 

“Sherlock, what is the matter with you? You’ve done nothing but stare at me for weeks and as much as I appreciate your concern over me today, I just need you to talk to me. What’s going on?”

 

And there it is again, The Look. But you’re up close now, and it’s something you’ve never seen on his face before: it’s like he’s frozen himself in shock.

 

You tentatively lay your hand over his, afraid he might bolt as he has every other time. “I’m here, Sherlock.”

 

His mouth opens and closes for a moment. “Molly.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I--”

 

He stops and clears his throat, finally dropping his gaze from yours and something like fear coils in your chest.

 

“My brain sometimes...needs a moment to rearrange data when new information presents itself. I’m not often truly surprised, but there are things that occasionally are shocking, even to me. And occasionally, it causes something like a temporary short circuit.” He fidgets a bit. “And recently, something...rather shocking though–in hindsight, should not have been surprising–came to my attention. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t–I am still not sure what to do with it. It’s required quite a lot of rearranging of my mind palace and I’m not sure it’s even yet quite finished.”

 

“Can I help?” you ask, worried. “Maybe we can work it out together.”

 

“Yes, that’s rather what I was hoping.” He’s mumbled the response, but looks back up at you, meeting your eyes a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.  

 

And just like that, you know that he’s going to kiss you.

 

You watch him as he comes closer, and fleetingly you wonder if it’s going to be like every other time he’s kissed you, looking soulfully into your eyes long enough for you to see the depths he’s capable of, keeping you on the hook for as long as he damn well pleases before pressing his lips to your cheek as some sort of twisted consolation prize, a reason to hang on to that threadbare hope and--

 

His lips are pressed to yours now and you have absolutely forgotten how to breathe.

 

It’s soft and so so sweet, the part of your brain that is still functioning wonders if this is some sort of goodbye.

 

In a panic stronger than anything that you’ve felt today, you pull away to look at him, your breath coming back in shallow bursts.

 

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? Tell me, please, just tell me what you need,” you bring your hands to his face, wondering what fresh hell he might be going through, what’s so terrible that he’d been afraid to tell you all this time.

 

He lets out a short breath that sounds like a laugh before kissing your forehead. “Molly, Molly. Isn’t it obvious?” he mumbles against your skin, placing another kiss at your temple. He lowers his head further, his breath tickling your ear. “All I need is you.”

 

X

  


“My brother was wrong, you know.”

 

You roll over onto your stomach to face him. He smirks a bit at you, raising an eyebrow. “You keep proving him wrong. For that alone I want to keep you around.”

 

You know you’re likely blushing a bit, there’s heat flushing your cheeks, but you try to hide it by hugging your comforter tighter to your chest. Your nose wrinkles a bit in confusion. “How did I prove Mycroft wrong?”

 

“‘Sentiment is not an advantage’. His mantra to me for as long as I can remember,” he tells you, his fingers tapping against his chest. “Complete bollocks, really.”

 

“It is complete bollocks,” you agree. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “How do I come in?”

 

Sherlock rolls over on his side to face you, pulling you closer to him so he can bury his face in your hair. The sensation is all still so very new, you can’t help but grin, letting your hands run up and down his side, his shirt soft and warm beneath your fingers. This all could still be some sort of dream, but even if it is you’re determined to just lay there and enjoy it.

 

“You, Doctor Hooper,” he is saying as he kisses the tip of your ear, your temple, your cheek. “You are never a disadvantage. In fact, you are quite possibly the embodiment of the opposite.”

 

He’s kissing you again, and you don’t hesitate to kiss him back, your fingers finding purchase in his hair, your mouths moving together with very little rush (for now), still tentatively exploring the sensations that are only hours old.

 

There will be more of this, that you will insist on, more of this and oh so much much more, but for now you let him pull away and you adjust yourselves so that you’re tucked into his side, your head on his shoulder as he holds one of your hands over his chest. He wraps his fingers around yours, running his thumb over your knuckles and across your bare ring finger.

 

“Molly Hooper, I...I told you that I wish you to be very happy. That’s still true. But I really would like to be the one that can make you very happy. Do you think that’s possible?”

 

Your breath catches for a moment, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the drum of his heartbeat under your palm. Your lips curve into a smile that might be too bright.

 

“Yes, Sherlock. I really believe that you can.”

  
-30-

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was based on the idea that Sherlock’s brain sort of short circuits when faced with certain facts, and I really liked the idea of it happening to him the minute his feelings for Molly catch up to him and materialize as something recognizable. Then follows the fact that he doesn’t know what do with this knowledge and freezes up every time he sees her.


End file.
